


In Hospital, or Chocolates and Chips

by hutchynstarsk



Series: First Impressions [3]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: Chips - Freeform, Chocolate, Gen, Hospital, Humour, Recovery, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had the most fun writing this one, I think!  It's a bit of a reprieve from the tension of the first two, and I got to just have fun with the characters.   :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	In Hospital, or Chocolates and Chips

**Author's Note:**

> I had the most fun writing this one, I think! It's a bit of a reprieve from the tension of the first two, and I got to just have fun with the characters. :)

with much beta thanks to [](http://inlovewithboth.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithboth**](http://inlovewithboth.livejournal.com/) :)

 **In Hospital**  
or  
 **Chocolates and Chips**

by Allie

 

 

 

**BODIE**

 

Bodie peeked round the corner nervously. All was silent in the little hospital room, frighteningly silent. He slid round the corner, surprised by this sudden attack of nerves. It had sounded like such a good idea, visit his new temporary partner in hospital, maybe cheer him up a bit.

Now he stood here, watching the stark-white face of a sleeping Doyle. Doyle looked so insubstantial lying there, couldn’t possibly be the same man who had been nearly as good as Bodie at almost everything in Cowley’s trials.

Cowley had been annoyed when he heard Doyle had to go to the hospital. As if it was a personal affront to him. Doyle had looked more embarrassed than anything. Embarrassed, and tired.

Looking at him now, Bodie didn’t know how anyone could have missed that he was sick. He looked like death warmed up.

Doyle would get well, of course he would. The man was made of steel, even as fragile as he looked right now. Bodie swallowed hard. He wished Doyle were awake so he could say something to cut the heavy feeling in the room. It was best he sleep, of course....

“You’re his friend?”

Bodie looked up to face startlingly green eyes in a wide, slightly wrinkled face. A nurse some years older than Bodie smiled, her eyes crinkling. Bodie found himself relaxing.

“Yeah, I’m his friend.”

“He could use one. No one’s visited so far.” She entered the room. “Is he always this stubborn? He barely touches his food. He said he doesn’t like it.” She moved to the end of the bed, consulted a chart, and then cast those disconcertingly green eyes on him yet again. They seemed familiar somehow, and he found himself answering her more honestly than he normally would.

“Haven’t been his mate long. But yeah. I think so.”

She nodded at the confirmation. “Is there anything he likes to eat, that might tempt him?”

Bodie looked back at the sleeping, still figure. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

He had the sudden nostalgic daydream-image of him and Doyle stocking up for a long stakeout, arms piled high with junk food. The two of them fighting over the last of the Swiss roll, sharing a pint after work.

This would work, wouldn’t it? Having a temporary partner. Bodie hadn’t worked like that before. He’d been either part of a military unit or a one-man army. He’d never had to put his trust in one person exclusively, day in and day out.

It was a nerve-wracking idea. And yet—if he were to have someone he could trust to watch his back, it would be nice. It would be even nicer if that person was Doyle. He’d grown to appreciate Doyle’s skills, and he somehow felt sort of committed to him as well.

If Doyle could make Bodie work so hard to keep ahead of him when he was so sick, how good would the ex-constable be when he was well? He’d be great!

Bodie had snuck a look at Doyle’s file after the man was admitted to the hospital. He’d taken delight in reading about the accomplishments, the bursts of temper, the things between the lines that went unstated—how much he tended to annoy his superiors, for instance. And the one thing that both startled Bodie and left him feeling somehow wistful: Syd Parker, Doyle’s partner, had been dead for the last several years—not weeks or months, as Bodie had supposed.

Doyle’s loyalty went that deep.

Bodie knew very well that if he died today no-one would miss him much. He looked again at the still, sleeping figure. Maybe, if he could earn this man’s trust....

Well, if Doyle were to transfer his loyalty from a dead man to Bodie, well...Bodie would always have somebody there to watch his back. He’d never again end up in a situation like in Congo. You’d never be locked up and forgotten, left to rot with somebody like Doyle on your side. Doyle move heaven and earth...

Bodie stood up. “I’ll visit again when he’s awake.”

The nurse cast him another alert look. “Don’t wait too long.”

He stopped in his tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged. “I’m not the doctor. He just...”

“What?”

“Seems like he’s not fighting as hard as he should be. A man his age should want to get better quickly, so he can go back to his life. I get the feeling he doesn’t much care what happens to him. It could be the illness, of course, or that I’m mistaken—but it wouldn’t hurt to have something to take his mind off things.”

“Oh, he will,” promised Bodie grimly. “He’s not getting out of it that easily.” He strode from the room, energised and angry.

He bought all the magazines he could find and left them in Doyle’s room. Doyle was still asleep, even when stared at closely.

After that Bodie couldn’t think what to do, so he went back to CI-5 and spent an hour killing targets with a handgun.

It was frustrating, having someone sick. Not so easy to stand up and kill the germs.

Stupid copper should know not to let himself get sick, Bodie thought, shooting a bulls-eye. He smiled briefly at his accomplishment. Then he sobered again. He didn’t even know what Doyle liked to eat. He barely knew anything about Doyle.

He put down his handgun. Maybe he ought to see if he could get into any of the other files Cowley had collected about Doyle. After all, he told himself, it was his duty to get to know his partner. He headed for the records room, plotting his course of attack.

Something occurred to him on the way, and he detoured to a phone first. He called a company he was familiar with, and ordered a large box of chocolates sent anonymously to Doyle’s room. The golly was probably too stubborn to eat them if he knew they came from his partner, but if they came anonymously, he would. After all, who didn’t like chocolate?

He continued down the hall towards records, jauntily. It wasn’t silly to buy chocolate. It was an investment, an investment in his partner-to-be.

For a moment, he allowed his mind to dwell on a childish daydream. Someone always by his side, ready to back him up. The two of them squealing round corners in fast cars and bursting into buildings together, guns drawn. Always on top of the world, living fast, dangerous lives, safe because they could always rely on each other.

He smiled at his own silliness and went to see what dirt—er, research—he could find on his partner.

 

 

 

 

**DOYLE**

 

Bodie was taking the whole temporary partners thing a bit far. He was visiting in the hospital. Visiting Doyle, who very much wanted to just sleep.

Instead, an entirely too cocky and full of himself—and very healthy-looking—Bodie sat in the chair by Doyle’s bed, barely holding back a cat-got-the-cream grin. He seemed to be barely sitting still in the chair, restless with enthusiasm and pride.

He crossed arms. He crossed one leg over the other, then shifted and crossed the other instead. He beamed at Doyle—a singularly expansive, generous smile that seemed to hint of benign kindness and largesse ... worthy of a lord of the manor visiting one of his peasants. But mixed in with it was the enthusiastic antics of a schoolboy...Doyle had not seen him look like that except briefly after their fight, when Bodie had looked so entirely pleased and energised.

Doyle, realising he would not be able to ignore this man forever, rolled over and opened his eyes and gave Bodie a grumpy glower. “Wotcher want?” he growled, his voice a hoarse croak. Inwardly he grimaced. Here was Bodie, full of life and wearing a rather posh suit, and here was Doyle, fagged out, labouring under a cough and a disgusting hospital gown, sounding like a street urchin. Which he had been, or close enough, when he was young. But there was no need to let Bodie have anything else to feel superior about, was there?

However, Bodie didn’t seem to notice his black mood, nor his manner of speech.

“Nurses are nice,” he observed.

“Yes, aren’t they? When they’re not bullying you into taking your pills, waking you in the middle of the night, making you wear these bloody draughty gowns, telling you to eat the rotten hospital food....”

“Bully ‘em back, old son, give ‘em the masculine charm. Besides.” He cast a glance at Doyle that made him feel Bodie was seeing right through the sheet, blanket, and what there was of the gown. “CI-5 agents can’t afford to be body-shy, can they? Never know what you might have to go undercover as. Imagine it’s much the same in the drugs busting business.”

The smirk was back, a knowing eyebrow raised, and the arms were crossed.

Doyle’s eyes narrowed. He still felt distinctly foggy-brained and sleepy, but wanted to make sense of this, to not let Bodie get ahead of him somehow, or worse yet, mock him. “You’ve been reading my file?”

“Of course, old son.”

What a proprietary air the sod had! Doyle felt a spark of anger growing in his chest, an anger he’d been too weary for since arriving at the hospital.

Doyle swallowed his anger the best he could. There had been a couple of undercover jobs that someone like Bodie might find funny, but Doyle certainly didn’t intend to let Bodie smirk at him like that. “And what do you find in my file that’s worth a bloody great laugh?” His voice came out precise and sort of fake-posh as he picked his words carefully, enunciating them clearly. He was trying not to rush into anger, but how stiff his words sounded in his own ears!

Bodie shook his head. “You’re wrong there. Not funny. Your file’s as interesting as anyone has a right to expect from simply being a copper.”

Doyle felt his teeth gritting. “Simply a copper?!”

Bodie shrugged modestly. “You’ll see soon enough if you ever get a look at my file. Let’s just say, some of us have managed to see a bit of the world before settling down to CI-5.”

“Bodie...” growled Doyle. “Do you want something, or are you just here to put on airs and faff about?”

Bodie aped a startled, surprised look, blinking those ridiculous long eyelashes and holding a hand rather theatrically to gesture to himself. “I? Put on airs? I’m just checking on my mate in hospital!”

“I’m not your—your mate!” said Doyle, torn between annoyance and a great bubbling laugh that wanted to erupt at this man’s audacity. He contained most of it, but the little bit that escaped in a chuckle and a quirk of his mouth brought a pleased smile to Bodie’s face—and a look of satisfaction.

“Ah, but you are my mate, because I can make you laugh, can’t I?”

Doyle started to protest. “You’re not—”

“No—no!” Bodie raised his hands, and shut his eyes. “Don’t fight it, mate. You’re my partner now, so—”

“TEMPORARY partner.” Doyle rolled his Rs, eyes narrowing at the dangerous path Bodie was trying to tread. What was with this man anyway, that he seemed so eager to be friends?

“Yes, _temporary_ partner,” agreed Bodie, giving one slow, benevolent blink and another radiant smile. “Just thought I’d check on him, see? Wouldn’t want him to waste away before he can get good enough to watch my back, would I?”

“Me get good enough!” Doyle almost choked on his wordless anger.

While he was still struggling for words, Bodie went on. “I’ve got you beat every way but handguns. And I’m practicing with them, too. Probably have you beat at that by the time you’re out, unless you hurry up and get better.” He surged to his feet, smirking down at Doyle in the most odiously delighted, childish manner. “Cowley’s not making me take any classes till you’re well and we can take them together, so I’m using all my time to practice, aren’t I, mate? And I’m getting better and better—”

Doyle’s hand shot out from beneath his blanket and caught the posh necktie at the knot. He held it tightly and glared up at the insouciant, superior, almost taunting smile above him. “Better and better at pissing me off, mate, better and better at annoying a man on his sickbed, and better and better at ending flat on your rear as soon as I’m well enough to deck you in the face—mate!”

Bodie’s hands closed over Doyle’s, and he smiled down at Doyle as he worked Doyle’s grip loose. “Now that’s what I like to see, a little spirit, old son. The nurses said you were moping far too much. You’ll get well now, won’t you, all the faster—because you don’t want me pulling ahead.”

“Bodie—you—you arse!” Doyle tried to fling back his covers and start for the annoying temporary partner.

Bodie scuffled with him, pinning his hands under the blankets. Doyle twisted and tried to get free, but he was too tired, too near the edges of sickness yet. “You—you sodding, great—lummox!” Incoherence made even his insults seem weak.

“Want me to bring you anything tomorrow when I visit?” asked Bodie, ignoring him.

“A Bodie-repellent!” snapped Doyle.

Bodie laughed—a very honest-sounding laugh, delighted with the insult even though it was aimed at him. He let go of the sheet and blanket and drew back quickly, before one of Doyle’s fists could find him.

Doyle flopped back, his chest heaving. “Get out. Don’t want a temporary partner, either.”

He was well aware that he sounded childish and petulant, but the illness made it hard to cover his feelings with a veneer of adult attitudes. It was still too raw, too near the surface. He didn’t want some Bodie shoe horning his way into his life, making jokes, assuming rights and responsibilities that weren’t his, would never be his, because Doyle wasn’t having another partner—ever! Not going to get attached to anyone, or feel responsible for someone whose life would be risked every day. It just wasn’t going to happen.

For an instant, he thought he saw Bodie’s eyes soften, and a momentary seriousness cross that disagreeably cheerful face.

“Just trying to cheer you up, golly,” he said quietly. “Thought you could use the company. Nurse said nobody else had been to visit.”

Doyle snorted. “Haven’t exactly made a lot of friends recently.”

“No. But you’ve got me, mate.” Bodie strode for the door, pausing only to put his hand lightly on the end of the bed on the blanket over Doyle’s feet and give them a little patting sort of shake. His hand felt warm even through the blanket. Doyle was surprised by the gentleness of that gesture.

Then he was angry all over again at Bodie, for trying to find a way into the spot where he didn’t belong, and drew back his feet to kick at Bodie through the blankets. The hand whisked away before he could connect, and he flopped back again, exhausted.

“Don’t take too long getting well,” admonished Bodie. “Or I’ll get even further ahead.” He headed round the door, peered back round the edge, and gave Doyle a wink. “Rag doll.”

“Rag—” Doyle grabbed his covers and started trying to struggle his way out of bed again.

Bodie raised his hands and one eyebrow dramatically, then pulled the door shut, whistling. His footsteps retreated. Doyle listened suspiciously, halfway thinking the annoying ex-SAS man would be back any minute to taunt and tease him further.

But he wasn’t; all was silence, and Doyle was alone again in the peaceful, loud silence. The oppressive silence that let him rest with his memories, alone. Somebody had delivered some magazines, but he was too tired to read them.

He closed his eyes, and slept.

#

The next time Bodie visited, his gaze settled on the flagrantly large box of chocolates besides Doyle’s bed. “Fattening up, I see?” he said, picking up the box and turning it round, examining the label and then opening it to see how many were left.

It was a mark of how much better Doyle was starting to feel that he didn’t snap or even tell Bodie to get his hands off his chocolates.

“I guess you’re popular with the nurses after all,” smirked Bodie, putting the chocolates back and looking, as usual, rather cat-with-cream.

Doyle laughed. “Suppose it’s possible. Though it arrived anonymously. I’m certainly more popular with them now—let them eat the chocolates, don’t I? It’s the best bribe.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back on the pillow. Somehow he didn’t mind the sight of Bodie so much today. It was pleasant to have even a rather assuming and overbearing visitor, rather than nobody at all.

“You mean...you’re not eating them?” Bodie’s face had developed a frozen, glazed look.

“No, I don’t like chocolate.”

“Don’t like chocolate,” said Bodie in a strangled voice.

“No, why would I? It’s nasty, sweet stuff. Ugh! Gives me a toothache just thinking about it, mate.”

Now, that had just slipped out. ‘Mate.’ Mate in the most casual sense—Bodie certainly wasn’t going to be his mate, not his friend or a proper partner. Just...temporary.

His smile had died with these thoughts. But he kept watching Bodie closely. As he did, a strange suspicion rose in his chest. Like a cough, it exploded from him.

“Bloody hell! You sent them!” He slapped a hand over his mouth, to try to hold back the laugh. It bubbled out anyway.

Bodie was a picture of injured innocence, offended dignity. “Wanted to fatten you up, didn’t I? Not the nurses—don’t like big fat nurses.”

“You’re such a—a pig, Bodie.” Doyle struggled to keep back his laughter. “A chocolate-giving pig.” Another guffaw escaped him, and this time he didn’t try to hold back.

Bodie’s gaze turned towards the ceiling, as if finding something terribly interesting there. His mouth tightened and his lips compressed together, sending the bottom one out just...slightly...

“And now you’re pouting!” Doyle gasped for breath as another laugh tried to choke him.

“I can’t believe that I have a partner who doesn’t like chocolates.” Bodie got up rather haughtily. “If you’ve had your laugh, I’ll take these—” He took the box. “—and give them to someone who will appreciate them!”

“The n-nurses, or y-you?” asked Doyle, biting his lip to keep back another laugh. “I’m sorry. It just struck me as funny. Don’t take offense.”

“Well it’s too late. I already have. A man spends hard-earned...” He dropped the act and looked properly chagrined, flopping down to sit on the edge of Doyle’s bed. “Just trying to help, aren’t I?” He slid open the box, selected a square chocolate and bit it in half. He chewed experimentally, made a face and put half back into the box, then selected another.

“W-what are you doing?” Only a slight tremor in Doyle’s voice betrayed his desire to laugh. He thought he was keeping it well hidden, but Bodie shot him a narrowing-eyed look.

“I don’t like coconut.”

Doyle turned away, shoving a fist into his teeth, grinning too hard.

“I’m so glad I amuse you, Raymond,” said Bodie. “Ought to leave you to stew here alone. But I won’t, because I’m too nice a guy.” He said the last in a fake American accent.

 _Spare me_! thought Doyle. _A film fan_!

He turned back and, putting on a bland face, asked, “Westerns or gangster flicks?”

An eager look overtook the ex-SAS man’s face. “Both. You?”

“Neither. I think they’re childish.”

Bodie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you—”

“Yes?” asked Doyle, tugging his blanket around himself, looking mildly bland, and arranging his pillow behind him before raising his hands to twine behind his head.

“All those curls hide a wicked nature, don’t they?” asked Bodie.

“I suppose as much as those bright smiles of yours do.”

Bodie grinned as though he’d been complimented. “Yeah, suppose they do, don’t they?” He looked quite pleased with himself. He got up rather jauntily and tucked the box of chocolates under his arm. He’d eaten the second one (both halves), then licked his thumb and finger. “Well, if you don’t like chocolate, what do you like? Bear in mind I’m taking pity on the starving invalid.”

“Invalid....” Doyle’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. Grapes. If you’re going to waste your money, I’m hungry for grapes.”

“Right you are, old son.” Bodie nodded. But then frowned. “Nobody can get fat on grapes.”

“You asked what I wanted. I suppose you could just bring me a big tub of lard if you’d rather. Could get fat on that.”

Bodie made a face at him. “Was thinking chips. Lovely chips, with vinegar... fried perfectly, you understand—golden and fresh. Doesn’t chips sound good?” He darted a look at Doyle under those eyelashes.

“You’re wicked, you are,” said Doyle, salivating now for the fast food he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to get until long after he was discharged.

“Okay, grapes it is.” Bodie walked jauntily towards the doorway, then stopped, turned back. “But don’t expect me to wait on you all the time. I just want you out of hospital and strong enough to watch my back as soon as possible.”

“Finally something we agree on!”

Bodie gave him another smile, and then headed out.

Once again, Doyle was expecting it, and this time it happened. Bodie’s head edged round the corner and he made a face, sort of halfway crossing his eyes, and said in a funny voice, “Chiiiippps....”

“Bastard!” said Doyle, trying hard not to laugh. He grabbed for the tissue box and drew back his hand as if to throw.

Bodie’s face jerked back.

“You’d never smuggle them in!” called Doyle, after the retreating, laughing Bodie.

He sank back to his pillow, a smile still on his face. The man was a riot. A riot who sometimes acted like a child. Doyle couldn’t remember when he’d laughed so hard.

Then his smile died a little.

Bodie hadn’t been like this on the course, and he wouldn’t be later, either. This was a temporary reprieve from the violence and austerity of CI-5, their new life. This gentle, silly Bodie would be replaced again by the fierce, competitive Bodie from before.

And it was just as well. You could get far too attached to such a friendly old sod if you weren’t careful. And it was best not to get attached, even to a temporary partner.

Doyle rolled over and stared at the empty space where the chocolates had been—and then he laughed again.

Chocolates, indeed!

#

There was a tap at the window, and Doyle looked up from his magazine to see Bodie holding up two bags of chips, grinning.

Doyle swung back the covers and strode over. He pushed open the window and accepted the bags from Bodie’s greasy fingers. “Ta.”

“Tried to bring these in the regular way, but they’re too pungent. Couldn’t get them past the sister.”

Doyle held them, inhaling the scent, popping two into his mouth and chewing hungrily while Bodie climbed in the window.

Bodie took one of the packets back. “Aren’t these better than grapes?”

Doyle, who had quite enjoyed the grapes Bodie had already sent up “anonymously,” just grinned. His mouth was too full to talk. After a few moments of steady eating (Bodie eating just as hungrily as Doyle), Doyle licked his fingers. Those were good chips!

“Finish your chocolates?” Doyle asked with a smirk.

“All but the coconut,” said Bodie mildly. He sat down on the visitor’s chair. “Hey, I came to warn you. Cowley’s making rumblings about how you’ve been in hospital long enough, and you’re being checked out one way or the other.”

Doyle frowned. “Thought the doctor said I had to stay longer?”

“Well between the doctor and Cowley, mate, who do you think will win?”

Doyle thought about that. “Dunno. Guess we’ll see.” He sat down on the bed again, still feeling tired, and finished the last of his chips, squishing the soggy, vinegary ends into the salt at the bottom of the packet for an extra burst of flavour.

“Not worried either way?”

“Nah. I had a rest, but it gets dull in here. I’m not well yet, so I suppose I ought to stay. But it’d be nice to be free even if it’s just for classroom work.”

“Let you copy my lines,” said Bodie in a mock-childish voice, grinning at him.

“Probably be cribbing mine, more like!”

Bodie laughed. It was a surprisingly welcome sound, and Doyle felt himself grinning in response. He stretched out and pulled the covers back over him. “I’d best get some sleep while I can if Cowley’s going to spring me.”

“You’d best.” Bodie walked over to the bed, collected the empty chip packet and stacked it with his own. He paused by the bed, looking down at Doyle rather fondly. “Anything else you need?”

“No. Thanks for the chips.” Doyle yawned.

Bodie touched his arm lightly. “Welcome.”

Doyle pushed his hand away, grimacing. “You’re all greasy, mate!”

“Oh, am I? Sorry!” Grinning wickedly, the dark-haired ex-soldier wiped both hands quite pointedly on Doyle’s blankets. “Wouldn’t want to get anything _dirty_...!”

Doyle shoved at him, trying hard not to laugh.

The sister came in just at that moment. “Here! What are you doing in here?! I said no junk food!”

Bodie grabbed the empty containers and held them behind his back. Then he straightened, putting on a look that mixed a haughty, wounded dignity with the guilty look of a schoolboy caught in a prank.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” He backed around her towards the door, keeping the chip packets firmly behind him and out of her line of vision.

“Chips! I can smell chips!”

“Then you must be hungry for them as well. Goodbye, Raymond. Be a good boy,” he called sententiously, and darted out the door, leaving the sister staring after him with an outraged look, and Doyle biting his lip to keep from laughing helplessly.

 

<<<>>>

 


End file.
